


House on a Hill

by Mishafer



Series: Saturating the Reibert tag with Actual Reibert Fics [11]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Drinking, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Reibert Week, Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 01:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15474153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishafer/pseuds/Mishafer
Summary: On a cold day, Reiner and Bertholdt find a bottle of wine in an abandoned house. They take a drink to warm themselves.For the Reibert Week prompt "Warmth."





	House on a Hill

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [a song of the same name by The Pretty Reckless](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JbTjiW3MuQM).

In the ruins of Shiganshina sat a lone one-story house on a soft hill. A crumbled chimney and overgrown garden told its tale of desertion. Inside was oddly warm compared to the iciness of the other houses Reiner and Bertholdt had scavenged. Though what was most peculiar about the home was the lack of personal touch. Clothing, portraits, toys—anything showing people had lived there. Perhaps the residents had time to take their belongings? Regardless, the lack of humanity was a welcome relief from the other haunted homes.

Reiner indulged in his bad habit of ogling Bertholdt from behind. Noting the broadness of his shoulders as he reached for the top of a dusty kitchen cupboard. His white shirt wearing a tad too loose around his narrow waist. His too-short pants exposing a sliver of ankle whenever he stood on his toes.

Reiner made himself stop and moved to his side. “Looks like there’s nothing here.”

Bertholdt dusted his hands on his legs. “Yeah. I—” He focused on Reiner. “You look cold.”

He shrugged. “Nah, it’s nice and warm in here. I’m fine.”

He gripped Reiner’s fingers. The digits radiated with heat. “No, you’re not.”

Was he cold? If so, he couldn’t tell. But Bertholdt’s face wore that age-old  _‘...is Reiner okay?’_  look that was equal parts endearing and annoying. And now that they had grown into—whatever kind of romance they had—he felt like a nagged spouse.

“We’re almost done here anyway,” Reiner said, swinging open the pantry to complete their search. “Oh hey.” A tall glass bottle sat on the middle shelf. He took it and swiped the dust from the cork. “It’s wine.”

“Who would take everything but wine?”

“Crazy people.”

He hummed. “Well, that’d warm you up.” Reiner got a glint in his eye when Bertholdt added, “I’m kidding.”

Reiner popped the cork. “You sure?”

“Zeke will kill us if you’re drunk.” He reached for the bottle but Reiner skirted out of the way.

“Just a few sips won’t get us drunk.”

“There’s no  _us_  in this situation.” He reached for it again and Reiner jumped back. Bertholdt fought to keep a straight face. “You’re infuriating.”

“You like it.” He started to take a sip when he noticed the one thing out of place in the house: a chair askew by the hall. Like someone had tripped on it while fleeing. So wracked with terror they couldn’t stay steady and their foot caught the leg sending them toppling to the floor. Booming titan footsteps nearing as they frantically struggled to get up.

Reiner’s chest sank and he lowered the bottle. “Ah, you’re right. We shouldn’t be messing around like this. We need to do what we told Zeke we were going to.” He set the wine down on the table with a clunk and turned to their half-full bag by the door.

“Hey, wait.” Bertholdt gripped his arm. “One drink won’t hurt.”

He pulled his arm free. “This isn’t a game.”

Bertholdt picked up the bottle and read the label. “’Merlot.’ I wanna know what it tastes like.”

“You do?”

“Sure.” He hesitated, then brought it to his lips and swallowed a sip. He grimaced. “That’s strong.”

Reiner’s shoulders fell. “What are you doing?”

“We were having fun. You were having fun.”

“This isn’t supposed to be fun.”

“Yeah well, you took my joke seriously. So you wanted to have fun.”

He did. Just like they had during the past three years training when they stole moments alone. Games, gossip, and joking around. Days long passed.

“Adults don’t shirk their responsibilities.”

“Yes, they do. All the time. I just think you need to relax. That’s all.” He held out the merlot. “It only has to be one drink. Or two.”

Reiner knew he’d lost the fight when Bertholdt smiled that stomach-fluttering boyish smile. He’d down the whole bottle if he kept smiling like that.

He wrapped his fingers around the bottleneck and brought it to his mouth. Its yeasty scent met his nose followed by the bitter yet fruity taste. Like Bertholdt, he grimaced. He didn’t see how people had the palate for the stuff.

“Let’s go get comfortable on the sofa,” Bertholdt said, leading him to the adjoining living room.

They sat down before the dead fireplace. Firewood long rotted from abandonment. Bertholdt moved closer so they were shoulder-to-shoulder. A wave of guilt crashed over Reiner. No matter how many times he held him at arm’s length, Bertholdt insisted on pulling him back.

“This isn’t the first wine we drank,” Bertholdt said, taking a tiny sip. “You remember?”

Reiner accepted the bottle from Bertholdt. “How old were we?”

“Nine and ten. Way too young.”

A Marleyan merchant had pushed a cup of wine in the children’s faces. The man voluntarily speaking to Eldians was surprise enough, and they were not about to say no to anything a Marlyean offered. In hindsight, Reiner realized the man was tipsy.

“It made my throat sore,” Bertholdt said.

“And my fingers tingly.” He recalled liking it. More than he did the merlot. Which was odd, he ought to appreciate the drink more as an adult than vice versa.

Bertholdt laid his head on his shoulder and Reiner relaxed against him. “I still don’t know why he thought it was a good idea to give us some.”

Reiner squinted and took another sip. “Yeah. I wonder.”

“We also didn’t have to drink it.” He laughed a bit.

“It’d have been rude if we didn’t. Plus, on the bright side it made me not want to touch the stuff for years.”

“So why want to touch it now?”

“Because like you said, I wanted to have fun. Haven't done that in a while.”

“I’m glad. You’ve been on edge lately.”

“Hard not to be. The days are getting shorter but they feel longer. If you know what I mean.”

“I do.”

He ran his thumb around the bottle’s rim. “Feels like something is coming.”

“It is. It has to.” He lifted his head and took the merlot for another drink. “But you know, I think you revealing us then was for the best. Where we are now is good. Better than if we’d waited.”

He wished he would stop doing this. Patting him on the back when what needed was a punch to the face. Sometimes Reiner subconsciously fished for it. Pushing Bertholdt away in hopes he would pull him back to tell him what a selfish, manipulative failure he was.

Bertholdt continued, “You know, I was about to shift ontop of the tower when Ymir transformed. I was ready to bite my hand. Can you imagine how much worse that would’ve—”

Reiner groaned. “Bertholdt,  _stop_.”

He blinked. “Stop what?”

His jaw clenched. “Stop lying and tell me how you really feel.”

“How I really feel?”

He squeezed the bottle, casting his eyes to the chipped tile by the fireplace. “Man up and tell me how despicable I’ve been.”

“You’re not despicable.”

“You’re too nice for your own good. You need to change that.”

“You want me to be unkind to you.”

“You need to. Once.”

He went quiet. The silence deafening as Reiner braced himself.

_Come on, just do it already._

Bertholdt took a long breath. “You have steamrolled me sometimes. Like my opinions don’t matter. Or that you’d still rather be a soldier than go home together.”

Pins and needles pricked Reiner’s chest with each word.  _That’s more like it._

“But you’re also getting so much better,” Bertholdt said with an exasperating softness in his voice.

Reiner snapped his head around to scold him again but Bertholdt hushed him with a kiss.

He pushed him back. “I told you to stop doing that!”

Bertholdt cupped his neck and enveloped his mouth. Reiner protested against his lips, hands planted on his chest to hold him back, but he gave in and collapsed inward. Wrapping strong arms around Bertholdt’s waist. A flush crept through his chest and up his neck. Uncertain if it was the wine kicking in, the fervor of Bertholdt’s tongue, or both. No matter how little Reiner deserved him he could never push him away—even for his own good. He spent years wanting him so bad that to deny it would be like denying himself air.

Finally they separated. Eyes closed and Bertholdt’s fingers knitted in the fabric of Reiner’s shirt.

“You know,” Bertholdt began, “we could uh...”

Reiner’s eyes fluttered open. Hues of red mixed with Bertholdt’s olive complexion. “What?”

He shook his head. “It’s a bad idea.”

He nudged him. “We’re already neck-deep in a bad idea.”

“We’ve never...” He grew even redder. “...in an actual bed.”

God, his bashfulness was cute.

Bertholdt frowned. “That wouldn’t be appropriate though.”

It wouldn’t. It really wouldn’t. A couple may have shared that bed. Curled up in each other’s arms, made love after a long day, and slept in on Sundays.

But...

“Nothing we do anymore is appropriate.”

Bertholdt took a long drink of the wine. Longer than Reiner expected. “Yeah.” He looked at him with sweet green eyes. “Yeah.”

***

Sometimes Reiner doubted Bertholdt really loved him back. That he was pretending because he knew rejection would crush Reiner beyond repair. Yet denial was impossible with the way Bertholdt took him to bed and kissed him hungrily. Burrowing his face in the crook of his neck and grinding his hips against Reiner’s with an eagerness no one could fake. Bertholdt spooned him afterwards, kissing along his bare shoulder and saying,  _‘I love you.’_

Reiner still didn’t know why Bertholdt loved him.

Warmth engulfed his body. From his nose to his fingers to the tip of his toes. The cozy blankets and shared heat from his love cast out every wisp of cold.

Bertholdt threaded his fingers through Reiner’s. “When we get home we can do this as much as we want.”

Reiner squeezed his hand in return. “Not sure I want to drink wine in the afternoon.”

“We don’t have to. That’s what’ll be so nice. We won’t have to if we don’t want to.”

He brought Bertholdt’s gentle hand to his lips. Despite the warmth against his mouth, his gut dipped. “I don’t think I’d want more wine at all.”

“We’ll just do this then.”

Reiner breathed out and tried to focus on Bertholdt’s fiery heat. Yet the chill of the room seeped through as the buzz from the wine sex waned. The sour aftertaste of merlot stuck to his tongue and he wished for water.

After staring at a clock on the dresser stopped just after seven, he said, “Let’s go. Been at least an hour we’ve been here at this point.”

“Ah, yeah,” Bertholdt replied, almost inaudible.

They redressed silently. Snaps and clicks from the 3DM gear filled the bedroom.

“Should we take the wine?” Bertholdt asked, sounding more like a question to himself.

Reiner turned to the bottle on the nightstand. “For what?”

“Maybe Zeke will appreciate it. We’ll just have to uh, say we  _found it_  partially drunk.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, he’ll believe that.” Bertholdt gazed at the merlot with an unreadable expression. Reiner added, “Leave it.”

Bertholdt nodded and muttered an affirmative.

***

The cold was biting that evening. Bertholdt retreated to the tent soon after dusk. Reiner pondered making a cup of coffee to offset his melancholy but decided Zeke would find it odd. Their warchief had already been casting them a suspicious eye since their return. Reiner turned and entered the tent. A welcome wave of heat claiming his tense muscles. Bertholdt lay on his side faced away. Lantern by his head and cover ridden up to his waist. Staring a thousand miles beyond the thick cloth of the tent.

There was no doubt they were experiencing the same crash. It made the atmosphere thick as butter.

Reiner knew the easy solution: undress into his nightclothes and slip beneath his covers. Lay a light hand on Bertholdt’s shoulder in comfort. The way he’d always kept him and Bertholdt tethered while still keeping him at a comfortable distance. He began to do just that. Getting into his sleep clothes and lying down. Sliding into that old routine of pushing him away when it counted.

His heart ached.

No. He couldn’t do that. Not anymore. Especially not after earlier.

“Hey, Bertl?” He didn’t respond. Asking if he were okay would be dumb. So Reiner placed a hand on his shoulder, and instead of just resting it there, he squeezed.

Bertholdt gripped his hand and lolled his cheek against it. “I never want to drink wine again.”

“Me neither.”

Bertholdt rolled over. Reiner moved in to embrace him further when Bertholdt sat up. “I want to do something.”

He caressed his back. “Let’s try to sleep it off.” Bertholdt licked his lips and eyed his 3DM gear before pulling it over.

He bolted up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to do something.”

“Do what?”

“Just something.” He took his clothes and gear then hustled out of the tent, Reiner close behind.

Reiner stood still as Bertholdt threw on his clothes over his sleepwear. Nightshirt hanging out awkwardly from beneath his button up. Reiner was speechless. There had never been a plan for Bertholdt cracking up. That wasn’t something he did. He was the solid one and Reiner was, regrettably, the fragile one.

Reiner bit his cheek. “Ber—”

“You can come with me or not. I’m going regardless.”

He started to ask where, then realized. “The house? Are you going back to the house?”

He pulled a strap over his shoulder and nodded.

Reiner could argue. Demand to know why he was going back there. Convince him he was wrong, that he was losing his mind. But Bertholdt had dutifully trailed behind Reiner for years. Never questioning, never speaking up, just following. Doing the same for him was the least Reiner could do.

“Let me get ready then.” He glanced to Zeke’s tent. It seemed he hadn’t awoken. Yet. They needed to hurry or he would surely probe them on their intentions.

He snatched the lantern, his clothes, and gear from the tent. Copying Bertholdt and putting them on over his night wear.

Bertholdt stood at the wall’s edge. Fidgeting with his hands as a gust of wind blew the hair from his face. The crescent moon illuminated his determined features. Times like those he looked more like a man than a boy. Reiner was uncertain whether to be proud or sad.

Reiner glided after him down the wall and to the dewy grass. It was colder at ground level and his nose stung from breathing the air. After hopping over several houses, Reiner found himself struggling to match Bertholdt’s speed. Maybe it was best he had always slowed his pace so Reiner could take the lead. If he hadn’t, Bertholdt would have rocketed past him ages ago.

Once at their destination, Bertholdt stopped. The home loomed over them like a titan.

“Okay,” Reiner breathed out with a puff of condensation. “Now what?”

“Inside.” Bertholdt took the lantern that was hooked to his back.

The home was still as warm as that afternoon, but Reiner shivered. Bertholdt lit the path into the bedroom and took the wine bottle. The sight of it caused a twang of sadness.

The curiosity became too much and Reiner had to know his plan. “You wanna throw bottles?” he asked.

“I want to burn this place down.” His voice was flat.

Okay. He’d lost it. Bertholdt had finally lost it.

Reiner extended a hand. “Ah hey, how about we just smash it?”

“Do you remember the house that Marleyan came from? The one who gave us the wine?”

“I don’t think so.”

“He came from a house beyond the fence, up on a hill. You must’ve noticed how this and that one are similar.”

He hadn’t. But upon reflection, the two shared the same white trim. The same long windows and stone path. “Yeah. Now I do. That’s why you wanna burn it down.”

“It won’t catch anywhere else. The ground’s damp and there’s no other houses nearby.”

He thought him insane, but he gave a stern nod. “Okay, buddy. Let’s do it.”

He lowered the bottle a tad and raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Reiner took the lantern from Bertholdt’s other hand. “I’ll light the way.”

Bertholdt’s throat bobbed as he popped the cork and tossed it. “I think you’re the one who’s too nice for his own good. Zeke’s not going to be happy we’re off burning down houses because just because I felt like it.”

“Zeke can slip on a banana peel.”

Bertholdt cracked a smile. “Yes, he can.” He let a trickle of wine fall from the bottle.

Reiner shone the way as Bertholdt traced the home with lines of purple. He watched Bertholdt’s face. Searching for some pyromaniac madness, but found no glee. Like he was performing a simple task. Once the bottle was empty, Bertholdt flung it aside and it shattered on the wooden kitchen floor. The fruity scent made Reiner’s mouth water for his canteen. He took a swig from his belt before they retired to the open doorway.

Bertholdt snapped off a sagging piece of wood from the door frame then gestured to the lantern. “Take the top off.”

Reiner popped the lid from the lantern and exposed the candle flame. Bertholdt touched the wood to the fire and the tip ignited. With a flick of the wrist, the flame flew through the doorway and landed square in the purple line. They stepped back as the interior lit up. The house once merely warm now blazed red-hot.

Light reflected off Bertholdt’s glassy eyes. “Thank you, Reiner.”

“Anytime.”

When the first beam collapsed in a flurry of sparks, Reiner understood why Bertholdt wanted this. Why he wanted to imagine the Marleyan house beyond the gate burning. Because it deserved to burn. As did the all houses like that across the lands. The ones that sat atop hills. The ones occupied by people who came out to offer wine to children. Convincing them the only way to ensure a life worth living was if others lay dead.

“I wish we could burn them all down,” Bertholdt said.

“So do I.”

Someday long after they'd perished, when the living grew sick of wine and thirsted for water, the houses would all be burned to ash.


End file.
